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screeching wind, one of Ms snow-shoes caught In
something and he fell face-forward Into the
snow. As he got up and reached down to pick
up his blanket, his hand touched the heavy object
which had tripped him. He kneeled down and
looked at It—and it was a woman—an Indian
woman—a dead Indian woman.

Still the wailing continued. He walked around
and around trying to locate it. It seemed to
come from the air, not from the ground. From
point to point he walked and stopped and listened.
Finally he walked up to a tree, and there,, hanging
high out of the reach of prowling animals, he
found a living child In a moss bag—a baby a few
months old.

Snug In Its native cradle, packed with dry
moss and rabbit skins, it had suffered naught from
the cold.

He built a great fire and made a camp, and
slept that night with the strange foundling
wrapped in his arms.

In the morning he snared some rabbits, and
slitting the throat of one with his hunting knife,
he pressed the warm blood into the mouth of the
hungry Infant.

With his axe and some saplings it did not take
him long to knock together a rough sleigh. And
so he came back to our camp in the valley, drag-
ging the unknown dead woman behind him; and

209                      o